The region doomed where’er that tempest dire hath past.
XVII.
See many a bark that swan-like floats the tide
Steal rapid round the fair Cantabrian shore.
Daughters of luxury, your frail heads hide!
’Tis women’s arms that ply the lusty oar
That hostile castle’s bristling wall before.
A patriot impulse bids them proudly dare
(Was never seen the like!) the batteries’ roar,
Their fruits and wine with the besiegers share,